by Kirsty Ferry
Becky laughed. She ran over to the table and grabbed her phone. Look up she texted. Now! At the window! She pressed ‘send’ and hurried back to the massive bay window. She saw him hesitate and look down at his pocket, then pull his phone out. He read it and looked up.
She began to wave at him, and he started to laugh. He waved back and made a little heart shape by crooking his forefingers and thumbs together.
Wait for me, I need to escape, Becky told him. I’m coming down.
Jon smiled and gave her the thumbs-up sign, and Becky hurried back to the table. She shut the lid on the laptop and grabbed her bag. She shoved her phone in as an afterthought and headed out of the house, pulling the door shut and locking it behind her. She raced down the stairs and out into the fresh air.
Jon was waiting for her by the park gate and she dashed over the road to meet him. He opened his arms and she flew into them laughing.
‘I couldn’t bear it any longer,’ she told him. ‘It’s horrendous up there. It’s so stuffy and I can’t work. At all. I mean it. I just can’t work.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m stagnating here. It’s supposed to be this fabulous city with all this energy and I’m just not taking advantage of it. I just want to go home.’ She pushed her hair behind her ear without thinking and stared around her. ‘Which way?’ She looked back at Jon, waiting for an answer.
‘The river?’ he suggested. ‘The Embankment? We could have a look at the bridges, do some touristy things. Have a coffee.’ His eyes sparkled.
‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘I’ll let you lead.’ She slipped her hand into his and looked up at him. ‘I don’t mind telling you that this situation with Cori is actually scaring me. I think Daisy’s dangerous. When Ella started trying to talk to me, it was different. She found a way to connect through that writing slope and she needed to talk to me so I could help her. She wanted me to tell the truth about what happened to her, so she and Adam could move on. And much as I feel sorry for her, Daisy just seems like a drug-addled fantasist and she’s impressing that personality on Cori. I don’t know what she’s trying to achieve.’
Jon pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her and it felt so right. ‘Are you absolutely sure Cori’s not just over-imaginative or something?’ he asked.
‘You didn’t see her yesterday. I swear I thought she was going to die on me,’ Becky replied. ‘If I had needed help, I just don’t know what I …’ she tailed off, shaking her head. ‘I’d have been useless!’
‘You’re not useless,’ said Jon. ‘You’re just what Cori needs right now.’
‘I’m not convinced,’ replied Becky. ‘I think she needs Simon. I don’t think Daisy’s going to give up easily, and I think Cori’s going to crack if she doesn’t get help. I don’t think I’m enough. She needs Simon like I needed you. But it’s a lot for him to take on. I wouldn’t have liked to deal with all that by myself. My own problems were enough, without having Ella’s as well! I think what I’m trying to say is that I was lucky you were there for me.’
‘Well, that’s very kind of you to say so,’ said Jon, smiling. ‘I’m glad you accepted that first coffee I offered you. Where would we be now if you hadn’t have done that?’
‘I’d still have ended up with you,’ said Becky. She reached up and pushed the ever-present bit of hair away from his eyes. ‘We just would have met up again somewhere else. It was never not going to happen. It just might have not happened yet.’ She shuddered, recalling her thoughts from when she had received Lissy’s desperate e-mail – and once again she felt grateful.
‘It would never not have happened,’ Jon replied. He leaned down and brushed her lips with his. ‘Come on. Let’s just get in the car and go somewhere else instead. We’ll drive away from the centre and find some greenery or some water or something. How does that sound?’
‘I can’t wait,’ she replied.
They were just finishing lunch in a coaching inn they had stumbled across somewhere within the commuter belt, when Becky sat back in the chair and contemplated loosening her waistband even more. Her bag was on the chair next to her and Jon suddenly leaned over.
He cocked his head to one side and pointed to the bag. ‘There’s a funny noise coming from your bag. Is it your mobile?’ he asked.
‘Ugh,’ she replied, flicking a disgusted look at the bag. ‘Useless thing.’
‘Good grief, it’s like you’re scared of it!’ Jon laughed. ‘Open the bag. Get it out. Read the message.’
‘Look! My bag’s still shaking,’ she said, touching the fabric. ‘It’s not stopping!’ She pulled her mobile out and stared at it for a second. ‘Here.’ She thrust it at Jon. ‘You deal with it. It’s Cori.’
Jon took it from her. ‘Five texts and two missed phone calls?’ he said. ‘Well, we’re lucky to catch this one.’ He pressed the answer button and spoke into it. ‘Hey, Cori. It’s Jon. Yes. Yes, she’s here.’ He looked at Becky, frowning. ‘Yeah. Just tell me, it’s fine. No, no worries. Yeah, I’m sure she doesn’t think you’re really into that sort of stuff. Yeah, I know. She doesn’t check texts very often. No that’s fine. I know you wanted her to know.
‘What? No, I’m sure she doesn’t think you’re obsessed. Mono-what? Monomania? No, I’m sure you haven’t got that either. Look, Cori, hey, it’s fine. Don’t cry. No, really. Cori?’ He held the phone to his ear a moment longer, scratching his head with his free hand and looking confused. Finally, he hung up and passed the phone back to Becky. ‘She’s gone. She just started crying and it cut off.’
‘That doesn’t sound good,’ replied Becky. She looked at the phone and began to flick through the texts. They all said the same, every single message: I’m sorry. I feel awful. Please forgive me. I never meant it to happen. Silently, she handed it back to Jon and leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands, looking at him for his reaction.
‘Well, now,’ he said, eventually. ‘I think she’s sorry. What exactly did she do that was so bad?’
‘Just had that episode in the park,’ said Becky, frowning.
Jon nodded towards the phone. ‘It’s off again,’ he said. He passed it to Becky and the horrible buzzing reverberated all through her fingertips and up her arms. Ugh!
‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘She’s saying the same thing again. I’m sorry, I’m sorry …’ She gave one of her expressive hand gestures, trying to wave the comments away. ‘I don’t like it, Jon. That’s not normal behaviour, is it?’ She looked up at him. ‘Do you think …?’
‘Come on.’ Jon pushed his chair back and stood up, understanding. ‘Let’s go and see her. Oh. We don’t know her address.’ He frowned. ‘Fatal flaw in the plan.’
‘I’m already on it,’ said Becky. She was pressing buttons on the phone. ‘Lissy will know it by now. She knows everything. She’ll have made it her business to get Cori’s address so she can see what her house is like.’
Two minutes later, the address came through.
Becky smiled and held the phone aloft. ‘I knew it,’ she said. ‘Result.’
‘Not so useless now, is it?’ Jon teased, pointing at the phone.
He managed to turn around and hurry away, just in time to prevent Becky retaliating verbally in a not-so-pleasant manner.
Chapter Thirty-Four
KENSINGTON
Becky was practically out of the car before Jon had pulled the handbrake on. She had become more and more twitchy as the journey progressed. Seven more messages had come through before Becky had finally switched the power off on the phone and thrown it onto the back seat.
‘This is it,’ she said as they pulled into the little street. ‘Come on.’
‘It’s a nice house …’ Jon began, but it was too late. She was away, hurrying across the cobbled courtyard and up to the front door of the house.
‘Becky, slow down!’ he shouted. ‘Are we sure this is the right place anyway?’ But he knew he was talking to himself. Shaking his head in exasperation, Jon locked up and went after his wife. Still when Cori had said ‘mews ho
use’, he had expected some tiny little place like the apartment over the studio in Whitby – maybe next door to a kebab house or 24-7 off-licence. He hadn’t expected this place.
He eyed up the three-storey white house tucked into the corner of the courtyard off Kensington High Street and raised his eyebrows. Very nice, indeed. It even had an integrated garage to the side. And that top room – he could tell the light would stream in there for most of the day. If it all worked out for them, well – who was to say Simon couldn’t use that as a studio?
‘Jon, it’s open!’ Becky was standing, holding the door handle. The door was ajar and she looked at Jon. ‘Where is she? Can we go in?’
Jon shrugged. ‘I don’t know, and I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘Can we?’
‘For God’s sake!’ snapped Becky. ‘Can’t you be serious for just one minute? There’s something up, I just know it. Come on. Let’s go in. I’ll take the blame if we get caught.’ She leaned against the door but it wouldn’t seem to move any further. She pushed again, using her foot as leverage and it swung open, creaking on the ancient hinges. ‘I bet that’s why it didn’t shut,’ she said. ‘Old wood, it’s swollen up …’
‘Becky!’ Jon tugged on her elbow. ‘I think we just got caught.’
A woman from across the courtyard was standing in her doorway, holding a pastel pink watering can, water dribbling out of the spout into a small, potted basil tree. Jon was aware that she was taking more notice of Becky and him than she was of the plant. She began to stride across the courtyard, her brows furrowed.
‘Oh, great,’ said Becky. ‘Fine. Leave this one to me. I hate doing this, but needs must.’
‘Excuse me!’ the woman said. ‘Can I help? I wonder if you’re in the right place? I don’t think I recognise you.’
Becky smiled. She raised her hand and waved at the woman. Hello, she signed. I’m Becky. We are friends with Cori. Do you sign?
The woman looked at her blankly. She turned her attention to Jon.
‘I wonder …’ she began.
But Jon knew what he had to do. I’m with her, he told the woman.
Don’t mind us, continued Becky. It’s fine. She pointed to the house and gave the woman a thumbs-up sign.
The woman looked from one to the other. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she said. She backed away and, with one last, confused glance, scurried back into her house and shut the door.
‘Thank you and goodbye,’ muttered Becky. ‘God, I feel bad, but it works every time. Then they wonder how I get some of my stories. Okay, come on.’ She hurried into the house and Jon followed, closing the door behind him.
There was a bright, airy hallway with a door leading off to the right; the kitchen, Jon realised. There was also a door to the left leading to a smaller room, with a bunch of flowers abandoned on a bench. Luckily, they were in one of those fabulous water bubble things. Otherwise it would have been one hell of a waste of money. Jon raised his eyebrows and walked into the kitchen.
Becky was already in there, amongst the modern units and the work surfaces cluttered with spice bottles and incompatible crockery. ‘I think we need to call Simon and check she’s not with him,’ she said. ‘She’s left in too much of a hurry. I’m going upstairs.’
Becky tried to push past him, but Jon blocked her way. ‘What makes you say that?’ he asked.
‘Look! On the bench!’ Becky jabbed her forefinger towards one of the alcoves. ‘She was halfway through making a cup of tea. Would you leave a coffee half made? I thought you watched all these forensic programmes?’ She tapped her temples. ‘My eyes function perfectly well, you know.’
Jon saw a tea bag floating on the top of a mug and a spoon next to it. The contents of the mug were mahogany, and a bottle of milk was next to the kettle, slowly curdling. He opened his mouth to reply, but Becky shook her head and this time succeeded in pushing past him and racing up the staircase towards what he assumed was the lounge area.
‘Call Simon!’ she reiterated as she disappeared around a dog-leg in the staircase. ‘Ask him if he’s seen her.’
Jon ran up the stairs and burst into the room Becky was standing in. It was a pale cream lounge with soft, comfortable, mismatched chairs and a huge coffee table dominating the centre of the floor. There was no sign of anybody.
‘Look – more stairs,’ said Becky. ‘The second floor.’ She started up the stairs and Jon looked around the lounge, trying to see if anything else would give him a clue as to Cori’s whereabouts. Then there came a shout from somewhere up above him.
‘Jon, quick. There’s no need to call Simon. He got here before us.’
Jon turned and pounded up the stairs. He came out into a large, untidy room lined with bookshelves and piles of paperwork stacked up any which way they could be.
There was a quietly insistent thumping as a door opened and closed, bouncing back and forth in its frame as the wind outside caught it. And lying on the floor amidst a pile of scattered books and paperwork, with blood trickling out of a cut on his forehead, was Simon.
When he started to come round and the room had stopped spinning so much, Simon found himself on a soft, pale pink rug and felt a wet cloth being pressed against his forehead.
He had the world’s worst headache and there was a woman kneeling over him. He squinted and tried to focus on her. She had dark hair. It wasn’t Cori. He would know Cori. He tried to sit up and the girl transferred her palm to his shoulder and pushed him gently down again.
‘Don’t try to sit up,’ she said.
‘Becky?’ he asked. His voice came out as no more than a croak. ‘She said you were visiting Lissy.’
‘Yes, we are. And Jon’s here as well, don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Do we need the police? Did someone break in?’
Simon shook his head. It hurt like hell. ‘No police,’ he said. ‘I need to find Cori.’
‘But where is she? Jon!’ Becky sat back on her heels and called across the room. ‘Jon. Can you come over here please?’ Simon felt the floorboards give a little as two feet came and stood by him.
‘Has Sleeping Beauty spoken then?’ came Jon’s voice. ‘Okay, mate, what’s happened? Tell me all about it.’
Simon closed his eyes and tried to formulate in his head just what had happened. He had come to the house and he’d knocked on the door and … Jesus! He’d ended up outside on the roof garden, hadn’t he? Then he’d come back in and … what had happened after that?
Cori hadn’t answered his calls; any of them. He’d ended up having to go to work at the gallery still wondering what the hell he’d done wrong. And once he was at work, he found that he couldn’t concentrate. Then, after a few more calls, he decided enough was enough; he was definitely going to go to her house.
It was just as well Lissy had been at the gallery that morning – she’d covered for him, telling the manager that Simon hadn’t felt well and had been suddenly indisposed. After some of Lissy’s graphic descriptions, the manager hadn’t pried any more and assumed Simon had gone home sick.
Which was probably about the point when he had pulled up in the Mews courtyard.
‘Cori!’ He had knocked on the door as hard as he could and it wasn’t long before she came to the door, dressed in that long, silvery-white maxi-dress he remembered so well.
It wasn’t her looking at him, though. Whoever it was had the same outward appearance but there was something in her face that just didn’t sit right.
‘Cori, can I come in?’ he asked. She looked at him as if she was trying to place him somewhere, then she smiled.
She stood back from the door and beckoned him in. ‘I was just making a cup of tea,’ she said. ‘Come on, let’s go upstairs and you can have a seat while I make you one too.’
‘Cori, what happened?’ he asked, hesitating for a moment before following her inside. There was just something about her that didn’t add up. She was off, somehow; skewed. In fact, she didn’t even look like Cori. Not properly. ‘You just disappeared,’ Simon continued. ‘I�
�ve been calling you all day. I was worried I’d done something wrong. I woke up and you weren’t there and after I thought we were okay last night.’
Cori laughed. ‘Oh, no, you’ve done nothing wrong. Don’t worry about that.’
He knew she had followed him upstairs.
Cori looked at him and her greenish-blue eyes suddenly filled with tears. ‘But, Simon, everything else has gone wrong,’ she whispered, ‘and I think I need your help.’
‘Anything, Cori. Whatever you need.’ He sat down, putting his car keys on the table with a little clatter. This girl, he recognised as Cori; but she was terrified. The fact she’d run out on him filtered out of his mind. All he was concerned about was her; right here and right now.
‘You shouldn’t have painted that picture, Simon,’ she said. ‘It brought her into your home.’
‘Brought who into my home?’ he had asked, confused. ‘What picture?’
‘Her. Daisy. The other Ophelia picture.’
‘You weren’t meant to see that just yet. I …’ He felt himself blush. ‘No. Actually, I have no excuses. I wanted to paint you. I’ve wanted to do that since the first minute you walked into the Tate. I was going to show it to you last night, but we never got that far.’
‘Did you hear me, Simon? I said that it brought her into your home. She’s ruined it. It wasn’t me. It was her, she ruined it. I’m so sorry. It was a beautiful picture.’
‘Ruined it?’ asked Simon. ‘Nothing’s ruined.’
‘It’s not ruined? But what did she do to it then?’
‘Cori, you’ve been dreaming. The picture is fine. I’ve done a few too many flowers in the foreground, but I can easily sort that out. I’m just sorry you had to find it like that. I really wanted to be the one to show you. Is that it? Is that why you ran out on me?’
‘Dreaming? But it all seemed so real. Hallucinations – that’s the next thing, though, isn’t it? She’s finally got me as mad as she was.’ Cori laughed and shook her head. ‘She said you shouldn’t have painted the portrait. I know they posed at Cheam for it, and—’