Tuesday 10:10
My own memories of this place in the past invade my present.
I watch Anna stand outside the house she grew up in, and it’s as though the years fall away and I’m seeing a little girl. I could get out of the car right now and stop her, but I don’t. Sometimes you have to let things play out, no matter how unpleasant. I already know what she is going to find inside, and I feel horrible about it. I also know that she has her own key, but watch as she bends down to take the spare one from under the flowerpot, before disappearing behind the peeling front door.
The cottage used to be beautiful, but, a bit like the woman inside, it has not aged well. Anna’s mother was a woman who knew how to make a house a home, and it was always by far the nicest cottage on the lane. Picture perfect. At least on the outside. People used to actually stop and take photos because it looked like a doll’s house with its pretty little garden, window boxes and white picket fence. Nobody stops to take photos of it anymore.
But, back then, she was so good at cleaning, tidying and making a place feel cosy, that she did it for a living. Anna’s mum cleaned for half the village for over twenty years – including the house where I live now – and she didn’t just clean. She’d buy scented candles and flowers and leave them in people’s homes. Occasionally she’d bake a batch of brownies and leave them on the kitchen table. She even babysat my sister from time to time too. Sometimes, it was just the way she made the bed, or plumped the pillows, but you always knew when Mrs Andrews had paid a visit. She was never short of work or references.
I wait in the car. When nothing happens, I wait a little longer, but then the familiar mix of boredom and anticipation distracts me, and I get out to stretch my legs. I walk along the street, keeping an eye on the house, then stop to examine Anna’s Mini. There is nothing out of the ordinary about it – aside from the garish red colour – there are no dents, no marks, no scratches. I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I guess sometimes in my line of work – as well as in life – you don’t always know what you’re looking for until you find it.
And then I do.
I see a pay-and-display car park ticket with a familiar National Trust logo on the floor of the passenger seat. Discarded and slightly crumpled, the small square of printed white paper doesn’t seem like anything of significance at first. I know she parked outside the woods this morning – I was there, I saw her. But I’m surprised that anyone in the media would have paid any attention to the parking meter, given the circumstances. I’m sure the National Trust was far more concerned with a body being found on its property, than a few people forgetting to pay and display.
I stare at it a while longer, without knowing why, as though my eyes are patiently waiting for my brain to catch up with what they have seen. Then I check my watch before looking back at the ticket one last time. The date. It isn’t today’s. I push my face right up against the car window, squinting inside until I am absolutely sure of what I see. According to that little square of black-and-white paper, Anna visited the car park where the body was found yesterday.
I look up and down the street as though wanting to share this information with another human being, to have them verify that it is real.
Then I hear a woman scream.