Page 89 of Pyg

“Sure they were.”

“Come on, let’s get this over with.” Alice linked her arm through Maggie’s, and the sisters stepped towards the cottage. At the front door, Alice bent down and tipped back a terracotta plant pot full of blooming narcissi. “Hold this a sec, will you?”

Maggie tutted and bent to hold the pot. Alice used her good arm to feel around underneath until her fingers grazed something cold.

“Et voila!” She held up the key, before turning it in the lock. The door creaked open into a dark hallway.

“Of course, the door creaks like we’re in a fucking horror movie,” whispered Maggie.

Alice turned and glared at her. “Do you want to just wait out here?”

Maggie looked as if she were seriously considering it. “No, because you have the weapon.”

They laughed and ventured inside. With Maggie’s near-hysteria ramping up the tension, Alice flicked on the light, half-expecting to see a body face down on the floor, but all that covered the floorboards was a well-worn rug.

“Alice, look,” Maggie whispered.

“Why are you whispering?”

“I don’t know. But look.” She jutted her chin to a pile of post stacked on a console table. “Someone must have been in here. They’ve been picking up the post.”

Alice frowned. “George didn’t mention anyone else.”

They walked through the unremarkable rooms together. Nothing seemed unusual or out of the ordinary. Having chatted to George, the decor and furnishings were, as Alice expected, functional yet comfortable. She’d even go as far as calling the place cosy, with the log burner and the shelves stacked with books. She could imagine George in this space; and, much like his face, she would describe it as ‘lived-in.’

In the kitchen, Alice filled a jug to tend to the thirsty houseplants, some of which she recognised as the same variety she’d had in the office. However, as she went to pour the water, she saw the soil was already damp.

“Al,” Maggie called from the lounge. “I think there’s a voicemail.”

Alice joined Maggie by the phone where a red light rapidly blinked on the answering machine.

“Should we listen to it?”

“It feels a bit intrusive, but yeah, I suppose that’s why we’re here.”

Maggie pressed the button and a robotic voice chirped from the speaker, “You have one new message and two saved messages. New message, received Saturday the third of April at oh-one-thirty-six.”

First, came the sound of shuffling and heavy breathing into a receiver. Then, “George? Are you there?” The heavily accented voice hitched and stumbled with emotion. “Please, you must call me back. Again, I will try your mobile.” A click and the message ended with a loud beep.

The sisters looked at each other.

“That didn’t sound good, whatever it was.”

“Shall we listen to the saved messages? Maybe there’s more?” Maggie pushed another button and the robotic voice moved onto a different script.

“First saved message, received Friday the second of April at seventeen-twenty-seven.”

“Happy birthday, dear brother. Thank you for the card. Can you believe it?” the voice gasped, then chuckled. “Me? Sixty-six. But you, you’re almost seventy, dear boy. We’re old men. Sorry I didn’t call you earlier. Juan whisked me off for pancakes at The Langham before we caught a matinee —My Fair Lady. Of all the shows.” A phlegmy cough wheezed at the end of the muffled line. “Sorry about that, still haven’t recovered fully from that blasted chest infection, nothing a drop of whisky won’t cure, eh? Oh, and he’s pouring me one now, the darling. Better dash. Speak soon, dear.”Click, beep.The message ended.

Alice looked up from the phone, meeting Maggie’s eyes. “That must have been Bernard — the next of kin no one can get hold of. But I’m confused, do they have the same birthday?”

“He sounds a bit?—”

“Gay?”

Maggie hit Alice with a hard glare. “I was going to sayeccentric, actually. The first voice was different, though. I wonder who that was?”

“There’s one more message.” Alice clicked the play button.

---