I could make something up – but I’ve already done too much of that in recent days. If I were to claim the music was loud, one of the first things Lauren would do is ask other tenants if they’ve heard anything. Regardless of their response, it wouldn’t get me the name of who’s on the other side of the hall. It all feels rather hopeless.
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘Sorry for bothering you.’
Lauren offers a brisk ‘no worries’ and then she’s gone.
I open my door a crack and listen as ‘Rocket Man’ loops back to the beginning. Aside from bashing down the door, I’m not sure what else I can do.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I lock my door and then wedge one of the dining chairs in front of it. Everything is a swirling mess of suspicion. There’s Harry, with whom I’ve had two dates. Is he some strange internet hacker and stalker? There’s the bloke with badges on his jacket who was hanging around outside the building and the memorial. Melanie’s coat was in the opposite apartment – and whoever’s in there keeps playing what was – at one point – my favourite song. Someone poisoned Billy – but was it Mark? Melanie? Harry? And then, beyond all that, someone left me more than three and a half thousand pounds for seemingly no reason.
I apologise to Billy, but he doesn’t seem quite ready to accept it. It’s not often I go around slamming doors and shouting at people. He remains in his corner and closes a single eye, watching me with the other in case I haven’t got the tantrum out of my system.
There are no emails from the person who put up posters about losing the envelope. The last one I received read a simple ‘See you at 11’ – except I waited at Chappie’s and nobody appeared. I send a new message:
Where were you?
I wait for a minute or two, but there’s no instant reply. After that, I go back through the CCTV photos from the bus again; looking through all the images, not only the ones with Harry. There are other people who are impossible to identify. Some are wearing caps or beanies; others are angled away from the camera and never turn to look at it. There is one image in which someone in a cap is between Harry and myself, but they are gone in the next shot. It’s hard to know what to think.
My phone rings with a number I don’t recognise, which reminds me I’ve not been bothered by ‘Unknown’ for a little while.
When I answer, it’s a woman’s voice: ‘Is that Lucy?’
‘Who’s calling?’ I ask.
‘It’s Gloria, love. We spoke at the pub after the memorial.’
She’s right in as much as we definitely spoke – but that’s only half of what happened.
‘What do you want?’ I ask.
‘Sorry about the other day. I think we might have got our wires crossed somewhere along the line.’
‘Do you mean when you ran away after the memorial?’
‘Well, er… yes… I’m sorry about that. Things were a bit emotional after the service and…’
She’s presumably waiting for me to say it’s fine, but I stay quiet and she’s forced to fill her own silence.
‘I should’ve told you the other day, but I’m working on a documentary,’ Gloria says. ‘It’s all a bit hush-hush, so I’m sure you understand, but—’
‘I’m not interested.’
Gloria has barely stopped for breath but hesitates and then ends up almost talking over herself: ‘Sorry, did you say you weren’t interested?’
She sounds stunned at this development.
‘I don’t want to do it,’ I reiterate.
‘Ah, but you’ve not heard what I have to say. There’s a fee involved. Probably a few hundred. I thought—’
‘I’m still not interested.’
Silence.
When her reply eventually comes, Gloria’s forced sweetness of moments before is a thing of the past. ‘You know, Lucy, you could at least show a little gratitude. I’ve gone out a limb for you. I know your financial situation isn’t great, so I’m trying to help you out. The least you could do is—’
I hang up. Even on the best of days, I don’t have time for this sort of thing. It feels like such a long time ago that she phoned and wanted to talk about money. It seems so naïve now that I thought she might have somehow been responsible for the envelope.
Gloria rings me straight back but I ignore the call.
Seconds later, a text arrives:
Did we get cut off? Can you call me back? X
I have no idea why she attached a kiss. I delete the text and then block her number. It’s not even about the documentary. I probably wouldn’t have been interested anyway – but if she’d asked in the right way, by explaining what it was about, I might have said yes. If it had the right tone, I’d have done it for free. I’ve never wanted to profit from the crash or what happened to Ben and I’ve had enough deception in my life. Approaching the relatives of people who’ve died to see who might tell their story for the least amount of money is hardly the right way to do things.
I return to my laptop, but there’s still no reply to my email from whoever put up the posters. I’m not sure what to do next. Confronting Harry doesn’t feel like a good idea – largely because doing that with Melanie gave me more questions than answers.
Billy is still a little wary of me and I find myself by the window, staring out to the road below. Groups of kids in school uniform are scuffing their way home and the light is starting to go. I always hate it when the clocks go back. It feels as if the final vestiges of summer have given up and there’s only cold, dark and grimness ahead. For as long as I live, I’ll never understand people who like winter. Summer is sun and light; it’s optimism and hope. Winter is everything summer isn’t.
Condensation is starting to cling to the glass and I feel my mood being pulled down to align with the murk outside. It’s as the gloom is settling, in more ways than one, that I spot a familiar figure standing on the opposite side of the road. I duck instinctively, only risking the merest of peeps over the ledge in case I’ve been seen. I crouch and almost crawl away from the window until I’m out of sight from the road. Billy eyes me suspiciously and I don’t blame him.
I unwedge the chair from the door and, when I get onto the landing, the music from across the hall has gone silent. No time for that now. I rush down the stairs and head for the back door but am moving so single-mindedly that I almost bump into Vicky in the hall. She steps out of the way with an ‘oh’ and almost falls into her door.
‘Sorry,’ I say, still edging towards the door at the back.
Vicky reaches out a hand to stop me. There’s more clarity than when I last saw her in the laundry room. The tiredness has lifted.
‘Did you, um…’ She looks both ways and then leans closer. ‘Someone put money under my door. You’re the only person I told about being short on rent. I kept meaning to knock on your door and ask if it was you, but…’ The sentence meanders away into a nervous smile.
‘I won a bit of money on a scratch card,’ I say.
She glances over her shoulder to make sure nobody’s there and then turns back. ‘I’ll pay you back.’
‘You don’t have to.’
‘I’ve got a job now. It all happened really suddenly. One of my friends saw a sign in a café and I went over there. Got chatting to the owner and started the next day. I think it might work out.’ She digs into her back pocket and comes out with a crumpled twenty-pound note, which she offers. ‘Here,’ she says.
‘I don’t want your money.’
‘Please take it. I don’t want charity.’