On the train back to London, Peggy’s coaster in my pocket, the events of the day swarmed through me till my head ached. I thought of Skye’s sad, short life, but I also thought of my own life. The story I had told myself had been scribbled over and ripped up. Firm ground was now quicksand. My own sense of who I was and what I meant had been dislocated.
A man walked through the carriage and, although there were several empty seats, he sat opposite me, spreading his legs, occupying space. He was fleshy, with brawny arms and jowly cheeks, and he let his gaze linger on me. I looked away, feeling queasy. Men, all men, had become figures of dread and menace. I had been so focused on Jason, but what about Ben, there in Jason’s house with his mean dog and his sad eyes and his pallid, slack face? What about Laurie, who I hadn’t even considered until now, although he had been in plain sight all along? Or Bernie, who always seemed to be around, meeting us in the hall, staring down at us from his window as we sat in the garden, bringing round bread, being a good neighbour? And of course, there was Aidan, who had been in my actual flat as much as anyone. Not anymore, of course. Men with dogs and men without dogs. And now there was Charlie, who had no connection to me, so far as I knew, but was deeply connected to Skye.
Who was I meant to be suspicious of? Who was I meant not to be suspicious of?
I couldn’t wait; it felt as if every second counted. I phoned Kelly Jordan.
‘I’m very busy,’ she said instead of hello.
I stood up and walked to the place between compartments so that the man wouldn’t be able to hear me.
‘You said I should get in touch if I had any concerns.’
‘What are your concerns?’
‘As far as I understand, the basic police theory is that Skye Nolan was killed as part of a robbery that went wrong.’
‘It’s one possibility.’
‘If it was a robbery, then why wasn’t her jewellery taken?’
There was a pause. I looked at my phone, wondering if I’d lost signal.
‘How do you know that?’
‘Skye’s mother showed me her jewellery box.’
‘Why did she do that?’
‘She invited me to her house.’
‘How do you even know her?’
‘I met her at the inquest. Remember? I told you I was going.’ There was a silence on the line. ‘It’s open to the public.’
‘I know it’s open to the public, Tess. Lots of places are open to the public. But talking to witnesses – you could even call it interfering with witnesses – is not…’ There was another pause. ‘Not something you should be doing.’
‘I just wanted to offer my condolences and she wanted to talk to me. I think that’s all right. But what about the jewellery?’
‘I don’t have to explain the police investigation to you.’
‘I know. I just wanted to inform you in case it changed your mind.’
‘All right, Tess, in this case the jewellery was found scattered on the floor. Presumably by the murderer.’
‘But why wasn’t it taken?’
‘Because we’re only seeing what was left. It looked as if the jewellery had been hastily tossed around as if someone had rummaged through it. Presumably more valuable items were taken.’
‘Peggy Nolan didn’t say anything was missing.’
‘Perhaps you don’t know that Peggy Nolan had lost touch with her daughter over the past year. There is no reason she would have been able to identify missing pieces of jewellery.’
‘But you don’t know that any jewellery was stolen.’
‘That’s true. But it may have been or it may have been that nothing was stolen because nothing was worth stealing. Is that all?’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job. I just want to be helpful.’
I heard Jordan take a deep breath.
‘I need to warn you that this is a murder investigation.’
‘I’m just talking to people.’
‘You’re talking to Skye’s mother who is extremely vulnerable.’
‘I know that. Also—’ I took a deep, steadying breath, knowing that I might be about to make a neighbour into an enemy and also wreck my friendship with Gina. ‘There are other men I think you should take a look at.’
‘What other men?’
‘Other men who Poppy sees a lot of. Like our neighbour, Bernie, who lives in the flat upstairs, and then there’s the husband of a friend of mine who looks after Poppy after school several times a week. And I don’t know if you’ve thought of investigating Skye’s ex-boyfriend, Charlie. He seems distraught, but I’ve heard that—’
‘Tess.’
‘What?’
‘Can you hear yourself?’
‘That’s not the point. Do you hear me? Are you listening?’
‘I understand you are worried.’
‘Justifiably.’
‘Let me say this. You are now accusing people left, right and centre—’
‘Not accusing them. Mentioning them.’
‘Have you thought of seeking help?’
‘I’m seeking your help. Right now.’
‘I don’t mean that kind of help.’
‘You think I’m mentally disturbed?’
‘I think you have allowed yourself to be swamped by anxiety.’ Kelly Jordan spoke carefully. ‘So that you are not seeing things clearly or being rational. It might be worth talking to someone. Instead of ringing me up every time a random new fear pops into your mind.’
Looking up, I met the man’s gaze; he didn’t drop his eyes. I turned my back and walked into the next carriage.
‘The trouble is,’ I said. ‘The only way you’ll take me seriously is if something terrible happens.’
‘I can assure you the police are working very hard to find out who murdered Skye Nolan. You can leave that to us. You are not helping us; you are not helping yourself or your daughter; you are simply getting in the way of our investigation, and if this means anything to you, I’m already in enough trouble as it is because of the time and energy I have spent on you and your fears.’
She broke off the call without saying goodbye and I found myself holding my phone and staring out of the window, through the back windows of houses in east London.
I returned to a different seat. I couldn’t stop myself thinking of Jason walking through my house after I was dead, going through my things.
I waited on the station forecourt, my heart racing. Soon I would see Poppy.
I had ten minutes before their train arrived. The detective’s words echoed in my mind. You need to seek help.
Maybe she was right, maybe I did. Maybe I was like Poppy and a story had taken hold of me and I could no longer tell what was true and what was a fiction born out of tenderness and fear. My hands were trembling as I called the number.
‘I want to make an appointment with Dr Leavitt. For tomorrow.’
‘He has no appointments tomorrow.’
‘It won’t wait. I need to see him at once.’
‘You can come to the walk-in tomorrow. We open at eight.’