Page 36 of The Blue Hour

‘Jesus!’ Grace gasped. ‘You scared me.’ She moved to turn on the light.

‘Don’t!’ Vanessa snarled. Then, more gently, ‘Please.’

Grace sat down. ‘How do you feel? How are your hands?’ When Vanessa didn’t reply, Grace added, ‘I’ve taken tomorrow off. I’ll phone the police first thing.’

‘No.’

‘It’s criminal damage, Vanessa.’

‘No.’

Grace exhaled slowly. ‘Well … We need to get in touch with the gallery, at least, we—’

‘No, Grace.Wedon’t need to get in touch with anyone. Don’t phone anyone. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t do anything.’

‘You have to tell them, you—’

‘Don’t tell me what I have to do!’ Vanessa hissed. ‘Everything is gone. Do you understand?Everything.’

‘I know, I …’

‘Please, leave me alone. For pity’s sake, go to bed and leave me alone.’

When Grace rose in the morning, the phone was ringing. Vanessa was sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee, unravelling the bandagesfrom her hands. ‘Don’t answer it,’ she said when she saw Grace move towards the phone. ‘Could you go to the village and get me some cigarettes?’ Her eyes were ringed with circles the colour of bruises and her face was puffy, but she was clear-eyed, her voice steady.

‘Of course,’ Grace replied carefully. ‘Do you need anything else? Shall I make you something to eat?’ Vanessa shook her head. When Grace came over to inspect Vanessa’s hands, she turned her face away, but she didn’t resist. ‘Keep them clean,’ Grace said, ‘and dry. Don’t try to do too much.’

‘Too much of what?’ Vanessa asked, and she started laughing, a high, strange sound.

The phone rang all the time. Vanessa didn’t answer it. She did nothing, she barely moved from the kitchen, just sat there and smoked and drank coffee and stared at the sea, at the causeway, as though waiting for someone to come.

And then, after six days had passed, late on Saturday afternoon, someone came.

Grace was relieved, at first. She was walking on the beach when she saw the police car driving slowly along the causeway.At last, she thought,she’scome to her senses.Quickening her pace, she hurried towards the steps: she wanted to be there for Vanessa when she spoke to them.

They were all in the kitchen – two young men in uniform, standing awkwardly near the door, and Vanessa, still sitting at the kitchen table, smoking. Grace bustled in, shoving one of the officers out of the way as she did.

‘I’m Vanessa’s friend,’ Grace announced. ‘I also live here.’

‘Well, not really,’ Vanessa said, squinting at the cherry of her cigarette.

The police officers exchanged a quick look.

‘We were asking about Mr Chapman,’ the older of the two said. ‘About the last time you saw him.’

‘He’s missing,’ Vanessa said quickly, looking at Grace for the first time since she’d come into the room.

‘Missing?’ Grace repeated.

‘That’s what Isobel says. Apparently he didn’t show up for her birthday.’

Grace let out a short bark of laughter. ‘So … does that mean he’smissing? Because he didn’t show up to a birthday party?’

Vanessa shrugged. ‘Itisodd. He didn’t call her, or anything. That’s unusual. They’re very close.’

‘I understand that he was here visiting?’ the first policeman said.

It took Grace a moment to realize he was talking to her. ‘That’s right,’ she replied, ‘he was here last week … no, the week before that. He left on Thursday. I wasn’t here, I was staying at my cottage in the village, but I saw him … I saw his car, that is. I saw it going through the village on Thursday, around lunchtime.’

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