O’Reilly sighed, long and loud. ‘Did you report it?’
‘Report it?’ Seanie snorted. ‘I never even said it. To anyone. Until tonight. Aoife begged me not to tell, and I didn’t that night, and then I didn’t say anything the next day and then … Then it felt like it was too late. And everything seemed fine. She seemed fine. She always said she was, but—’ There was a lump in his throat now and it felt so big, it was painful. ‘A couple of years later, around Transition Year, things started to go south for her. She got in with the wrong crowd, my mam says. And she did. I mean, that’s true. But we never talk about why she did. Or why she kept getting in with them, one crowd after another, until it was too late for her to get out.’ Seanie paused. ‘I worry it was him.’
‘What happened to her?’ O’Reilly asked quietly.
‘She jumped off a bridge in London. Well, she was pulled from the water. Whether she meant to go in there or she had an accident, we don’t know. We’ll never know.’
Both men were silent for a moment.
‘Sergeant,’ O’Reilly said, ‘tell me one thing and tell me the truth. Did you put in for this because of what you’ve just told me?’
‘No.’ That was the truth. ‘Really, no. I was sick of Dublin, and the rent on this house … But look, I can’t pretend I wasn’t keeping an ear out. I knew he was still here, I saw him around. I thought—’
A doorbell sounded.
‘That’s the station,’ Seanie said.
No sooner had they both stood up than a pounding started. Fists thumping hard against wood. It sounded like someone was trying to break down Seanie’s front door.
They looked at each other, then hurried into the hall.
The pounding ceased.
Seanie threw open the front door and stepped outside.
A woman was at the station’s only window, hands cupped to the glass, peering inside. The first detail he noticed about her was how her jeans were soaking wet, dark with water and clinging in patches to her skin, all the way up to her knees. The second was that she’d left her car parked haphazardly in front of the station entrance, the engine still running, the driver’s door still open, headlights still on.
‘Hey,’ he called out.
The woman turned towards them.
‘It’s that bloody reporter,’ O’Reilly muttered from behind him. ‘What now?’
‘Where is it?’ Natalie demanded.
Andrew frowned at her, confused. ‘Where’s what?’
He was standing just inside his own front door, one hand on the frame, the other holding the door tightly against him, allowing only a narrow view of the dim space beyond.
She had dispensed with pleasantries and greeted him with her question. It looked to her like he was still catching up.
‘I had a book,’ she said. ‘A book of poetry. I put it in a drawer in the kitchen last night and it was still there this morning before I left but now it’s gone.’ The words were tumbling out in a rush of breath and anger. ‘Where is it? Did you take it? Or was it Richard just now when he was breaking in?’ She was clutching the slightly crumpled LEAVE note in her hand; she thrust it at him and he took it from her. Smoothed it out. Lifted it to his face to study it intently. ‘And who wrote that? Was it you? Look, my husband stayed here. I know he did. He got a bill from this place. You charged his credit card. It was only a couple of weeks ago and yet you deny ever seeing him—’ She felt tears threatening and her voice cracked as if to let Andrew know too. ‘Tell me what the hell is going on here and tell me now. Did Mike ask you to lie to me? Did he …?’ Suddenly a thought occurred to her that was so awful, the weight of it crushed something deep in her chest. ‘Did he ask you to go and get that book? Is that…?’ Her eyes were heavy with tears and when she blinked, they began escaping. She was so angry, she didn’t even care. Let him see her cry. What difference did it make now? ‘Is that why you took it?’
Andrew hadn’t looked up since Natalie had given him the note.
Now, finally, he did.
And said, ‘Come in.’
He pushed the door open all the way and retreated into the dim. After a beat, Natalie followed him.
Inside, this cottage was the mirror image of hers, down to the furniture. But despite the time of day, Andrew had his curtains closed and only a couple of lamps on. The TV was tuned to a news channel and on mute. The air was musty with distinctly unpleasant base notes of smelly socks and sweaty armpit. Natalie tried to breathe through her mouth.
And there was so much more stuff in this cottage. No chair, table or remotely flat surface had escaped it. Each step of the staircase had a little stack of something gathered on one end of it: magazines, towels, loose papers. The coffee table was piled with soiled plates, empty Coke bottles and opened cereal boxes. Andrew was hurriedly removing layers of clothing from the nearest armchair, collecting them in his arms before transferring them to the couch where they were added to an existing collection. He motioned for her to take a seat in the space he’d just cleared.
‘I’m sorry about the mess,’ he said. ‘I haven’t been well.’
Natalie sat down. He remained standing.
‘So,’ she said. ‘Is she here?’
‘Who?’
‘The woman I saw last night.’
Andrew looked at her blankly.
‘The woman,’ he repeated slowly, as if sounding out a foreign word.
‘Yes, the woman. The woman I saw from my window about an hour after I checked in last night.’
Now: confusion. ‘You mean, like, another guest?’
‘I mean like the woman I saw standing in your bedroom. Upstairs. Looking out. At me. Who is she? Does she work here? Is she the woman my husband came here to see?’
Andrew swallowed. ‘Natalie—’
‘I just want the truth, okay, Andrew? Enough with the act, with all the bullshit. Let’s just draw a line under it right now. I’m going to find out anyway so we can stop with the farce, with all this’ – she threw up her hands – ‘pretending. You can stop lying for him, okay?
There’s no point. Not any more. I know what’s going on, I just need you to confirm it for me because—’ She had to stop to take a breath. If she didn’t, more tears would come and she might not be able to stop them this time. ‘Because I feel like I’m going mad, okay? Like I’m losing my mind. Can’t you understand that? I just … I just need you to tell me the truth. That’s all. Please. Please.’ She paused. ‘Don’t make me beg.’
For a moment Andrew didn’t say or do anything.
Then he moved to the couch and perched himself on the arm of it, facing her.
‘Okay,’ he said, rubbing at his temples. ‘Okay … The book. You said it was a … a poetry book?’
Natalie nodded.
‘Was it blue?’
‘Yes! Yes, it was. Blue. Did you see it? Do you know—’
‘I saw it,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘I saw it when I was cleaning your cottage. Yesterday morning. Before you arrived.’
This statement drenched Natalie in cold relief. The book had been there. It existed. It was real. She wasn’t just imagining it.
But then she saw that Andrew was biting his lip, that he seemed mildly embarrassed about something—
‘Oh no, I know,’ she said quickly. ‘It was there before I arrived, yeah. I didn’t bring it with me. But you see, it was his. Is his. Well, ours. It was in our house. And I couldn’t find it because he’d brought it here. My husband, I mean. I—’ Natalie knew she sounded confused, unhinged, upset. She stopped, restarted. ‘I bought that book for my husband.’ She was speaking slower now, more deliberately, working to keep her voice even. ‘I noticed it was missing from our home a couple of weeks ago and last night, when I checked in, I found it here, in the same cottage where he stayed. Where I know he stayed because he got that bill from you.’
‘I don’t send out bills,’ Andrew said.
‘Well, we got one. I have it with me. It’s in my cottage. I can go get it.�
�� She moved to go. ‘I will get it.’
‘It’s okay,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘Just … just describe it to me.’
Natalie did.
‘And did you check your credit card?’ he asked when she was done. ‘Was there really that charge on it?’
‘No. I couldn’t, I don’t have access to that. It’s my husband’s card. But there was a receipt stapled to the page. From a credit card machine. And it said “Shanamore Cottages” at the top. Actually, you know what? It didn’t. It said “Shanamore Cottage.” Singular.’ She looked around and after a second spotted that, amid the mess, there was a handheld credit card terminal sitting on a small table just inside the door. ‘Print me a receipt. I bet that’s what it says.’
‘That is what it says,’ Andrew said. ‘I entered it wrong when I first got the machine and I never changed it. But I didn’t send you – or your husband – anything. I swear I didn’t.’
‘Then who did?’
He fell silent, looking lost in thought. Then: ‘That’s why you came here. The bill?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you ask your husband about it?’
‘I don’t think that’s any of your business.’
‘No,’ Andrew said. ‘No, it’s not. Sorry.’ He exhaled slowly. ‘I believe you about the bill, but it didn’t come from me. Maybe it’s identity theft or something. Like those emails you get pretending to be from your bank? I’ll call my bank and try to find out more, see if they have an explanation for how someone could’ve made a receipt that looks like it came from my machine. But look …’ He paused. ‘If your husband is the man in the photo you showed me, he didn’t stay here. We only have five cottages to rent out, we’re never that busy and I have a good memory. I would recognise him. Remember him.’
‘But maybe you didn’t see him. Maybe she checked them in. The woman.’
‘He came here with a woman?’
‘I don’t know!’ Natalie threw up her hands, frustrated. ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’
‘There were no guests here recently that would fit that scenario,’ Andrew said. ‘And before, all I saw was that your front door was open. I didn’t see Richard, or anyone else. And … Look, Richard doesn’t work here. I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that he did, I just didn’t want you to think that I let every Tom, Dick and Harry wander around the place. He just likes to have his nose in everyone else’s business and he can get a bit aggressive when he’s had a few drinks, so I’m probably not as firm with him as I should be. So I’m sorry about that. I’ll have a word with him.’ He paused. ‘What else was there?’
‘The note,’ Natalie said tersely.
Andrew was still holding it and he looked down at it now.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Maybe a previous guest left it there and I missed it when I was doing my clean? That happens. One time—’
‘What about the book? The poetry book that was there but now isn’t.’
‘It was there before you arrived.’
‘But it’s mine. I know it is because it has a special bookplate stuck inside and I signed it. And that doesn’t change the fact that it’s gone now.’
‘But because it’s gone, we can’t check, can we?’ Natalie opened her mouth to protest vehemently but was silenced by what Andrew said next, very quietly, with his gaze fixed firmly on the floor: ‘And there was no woman here last night.’
This was so absurd that Natalie laughed out loud.
‘That’s impossible. I saw her. Here. Upstairs.’
Andrew’s face was steadily turning a shade of beetroot.
‘No,’ he said. ‘You didn’t. I was home alone.’
He bowed his head so low that the only part of his face Natalie could see was his forehead, which had suddenly sprouted a sheen of sweat.
‘But I saw—’
‘I was home,’ Andrew said into his chest. ‘Alone.’
‘Oh,’ she said, realising. ‘Oh.’
And now she was embarrassed, a hot flush creeping up her neck and moistening her armpits and lighting the burners under the skin on her face.
Followed at high speed by a rushing panic.
Because now there was nothing left. There was no woman. A previous guest had probably left the note and she just hadn’t seen it until today. The poetry book didn’t belong to her, it was just someone else’s copy of it that they’d left behind. Had she … Oh my God. Had she hidden the book from herself so she could keep pretending that it was her one, the one she’d given Mike? Had she opened her own front door earlier too? And what about the bill that had sent her here in the first place? She couldn’t figure out how Mike would’ve known that it had arrived and where she’d hidden it. Did it even exist? Was it really folded deep in her handbag beside the bed back in Cottage No. 6 or had it only ever been in her head?
Mike was right. She was imagining things.
No, it was more than that. She was losing it. Losing her mind.
Reality had become a moving object that was darting around just beyond her grasp and it was absolutely terrifying.
Natalie’s legs began to shake uncontrollably, her boots mapping a rapid, dull tapping noise on the hardwood floor.
What was wrong with her?
How could something that felt so real not be?
What were you supposed to do when you couldn’t tell?
‘I have to go,’ she said.
She stood up, half expecting her legs to go from beneath her, feeling relieved when they didn’t.
The move made Andrew look relieved. And of course he was. She thought he was the crazy one but he’d been the one dealing with the crazy.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what’s …’
But then she stopped, feeling something tugging at her, pulling on her train of thought.
‘Natalie,’ she whispered.
‘What?’
‘Natalie,’ she said, loud and firm. ‘You called me Natalie.’
Andrew blanched. ‘Did I?’
‘I told you my name was Marie.’
‘Well, I …’ He ran a hand through his hair, held out the other hand, shifted his weight. ‘I saw it on, um …’ A quick breath. ‘I knew it from the, ah …’
If Andrew had denied it, if he’d protested, and if he was even a tiny bit convincing or managed to do it with even a smidgen of righteous indignation, Natalie would’ve believed him because she couldn’t believe herself.
But he didn’t.
Evidently, he couldn’t.
Instead, he said, almost in a whisper, ‘I’m not supposed to talk to you about her.’
Blood rushed in Natalie’s ears, a thunderous roar of a wave. For a moment she thought it might annihilate her altogether. But then it retreated, and she found herself standing strong on solid ground for the first time in a long time.
Feeling utterly calm.
And with a clear head.
‘Who is she?’
Andrew sighed, defeated. ‘She’s … She’s in charge.’
‘I thought you were.’
‘Not of everything.’
‘And she knows me?’
He nodded miserably. ‘She knew your name was Natalie.’
‘She was here with my husband. She brought him here.’
‘No, that’s the thing. She’s never stayed here. Not once. I swear. And I’ve never seen your husband. Really.’
He looked desperate for her to believe him.
‘Does she wear glasses?’ she asked. ‘Black ones, with thick frames.’
‘Why?’
‘Just answer the question, Andrew.’
‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘Sometimes.’
‘What do they look like?’
‘I don’t know … They’re black. And, like, big?’
‘Big like thick?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Was she here today?’
‘No, she left last night. I told you: she never stays here.’ He looked at her pleading
ly. ‘I swear, that’s the truth.’
She believed him, for whatever that was worth.
‘I don’t suppose you’ll give me her name and her phone number?’
Andrew turned as pale as she’d ever seen him, practically translucent.
‘Please,’ he said. ‘Don’t make me.’
He sounded like a small boy being scolded by his mother.
‘Okay,’ Natalie said. ‘But only if you tell me when she’ll be here again – and you tell me the truth.’
Now Andrew looked like he might be sick.
‘You can’t tell her,’ he said quickly. ‘You can’t tell her I told you. You’ll have to leave me out of it.’
‘She can’t fire you because you told me she was coming.’
‘She can do whatever she wants.’
‘No she can’t. There’re laws.’
But Andrew didn’t look convinced about that. Whoever this woman was that Mike was apparently attracted to and willing to risk everything to be with, she evidently had Andrew under her spell as well.
‘When will she be here?’ Natalie demanded.
‘Tomorrow morning.’
‘At what time?’
‘She always arrives around half nine. But you won’t … The thing is, you won’t see her. She doesn’t drive in here, she always parks in the site next door. The building site. She doesn’t want to run into any guests, so … If you come here and demand to see her, she’ll know that I—’
‘She comes in the back door here, then?’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Knocks or comes in?’
‘She has keys.’
‘But you’ll be here?’
‘Yes, I have to be.’
‘I’ll make sure I’m at around the side here at half nine. I can pretend I’ve just come from the front door because I got no answer. I can make it seem like I’ve casually run into her. I’ll act all surprised.’
She held her hand out for the LEAVE note and Andrew handed it over.
‘And you’ll leave me out of it?’ he asked.
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