Page 54 of Breaking the Dark

“Cup of tea?”

“Yeah, thanks, that would be great.”

“Belle, make our guest a cup of tea. Good girl.”

Debra is a tall woman, somewhere between midforties to early fifties. She has dark hair held back in a scrunchie, and shiny bangs that overhang sad-looking eyes framed with funky red plastic reading glasses. She’s wearing a baggy black turtleneck and black leggings, with thick socks and green fingerless gloves.

“So, what brings you to the wilds of Essex?” Debra asks, pouring a jug of stock over the piece of meat and re-covering it with foil. “That sounds like a New York accent to me.”

“Yeah,” says Jessica. “Born and bred. And in fact, I was talking to the guy at the pharmacy—”

“Elliot,” says Debra.

“Right. Elliot.” Jessica turns back to Belle. “He told me there were some other New Yorkers here this summer. A pair of twins about your age. Did you meet them?”

Belle shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I was away all summer, with my parents.”

Jessica pauses for a beat, absorbing this unexpected lie. “Oh, you weren’t here this summer?”

“No,” she says vaguely. “I don’t think so.”

“I saw them,” Debra cuts in. “In July, I think it was. A boy and a girl. I saw them around.”

“Oh. Did you get to talk to them?”

Debra scoffs. “Er, no. They were not exactly what you’d call friendly.”

“Yeah. So I hear.” The woman is lying, and Jessica needs to know why. “So, how long have you been the housekeeper here?”

“Oh, a few years. Just since Belle’s parents moved abroad.”

“Where do they live?” asks Jessica.

“Spain,” says Belle.

“Just outside Barcelona,” Debra finishes. “They run a hotel.”

“You’ll get to see them soon, I hope?”

Belle throws a quick glance at Debra, a tight smile on her lips.

“Christmas,” Debra says and straightens. “Belle will go out to see them at Christmas.”

“They don’t come back here? To see you?”

Belle again looks at Debra.

“They really can’t leave the hotel,” says Debra. “It’s all-consuming.”

“Yeah.” Jessica nods back and forth at both of them. “Yeah, I guess it would be.”

What is going on here? Jessica wonders. Is this child being held here against her will? Is she being brainwashed? And if so, why? Who is this woman, Debra, and what is her game?

“You know,” Jessica says. “I’ve been out all morning, and I could really do with using a bathroom. Would that be okay?”

Debra’s posture stiffens slightly, but she smiles. “Yes, of course. It’s right at the back of the house, just beyond the stairs. The light cord is broken, you’ll have to pull it a few times before the light comes on. And there’s probably an elderly cat in there. Just ignore him.”

As she exits the kitchen and walks down the hallway Jessica sees frayed dirty-red carpeting coming away from stair treads, faded wallpaper hanging in strips, corners festooned with ancient dusty cobwebs. While Jessica can imagine that this was once a handsome home for handsome people, what it does not look like is a home belonging to a pair of cool Gen X parents who own a hotel in Barcelona. Something is off about absolutely every last element of this setup, but she has no idea what it is.

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