Page 26 of The Tapes
‘I’ve been clearing out Dad’s house,’ I say, wanting to move on. ‘I know this is a strange question but it got me thinking. I was sure I once saw a jewellery box of yours a while back. There were flowers engraved on the side. I was wondering if you remember where you got it…?’
It’s not what Allie expected, likely in more ways than one. She looks to me blankly. ‘Sorry, Eve. I don’t think I’ve ever had a box like that. Could you be thinking of someone else?’
I force myself not to react, partly because, as soon as my brother mentioned ‘the Rowetts’, I’d convinced myself Jake was the Earring Killer. It would make so much sense, for me if no one else. Mum and Dad might have popped round here one evening to share a bottle of whisky and reminisce over past Christmases. Mum had found that box, taken it, then discovered the stolen earrings inside.
So easy.
Everyone would know who he was and I’d be able to talk openly about the way he pressed me to the wall, how his eyes narrowed, how I felt so helpless in those seconds.
But it’s not him.
I sit for a moment, ignoring the tea. It’s the second one made for me in almost as many hours that I’ve left.
There’s nothing to talk about and, much as I want to go, I can’t quite drag myself to the door. Allie perhaps recognises this because we sit in silence, not quite acknowledging the other, not quite ignoring. After a few minutes, my bag buzzes, so I retrieve my phone. A message from Faith.
Can you pick me up after college?
I reply to ask where, and she tells me the theatre that’s attached to the college. She sometimes walks, but usually takes the bus. It’s only if she’s had a long day that she asks for a lift.
I’m about to return the phone to my bag when another message arrives.
BTW, saw someone that looks a bit like grandma
I stare at it for a moment. Faith is too young to remember my mum but there are photos around the house. She’s always been somewhat intrigued by the idea of her grandmother disappearing, which is understandable. I text to ask what she means, but get the briefest of responses to say she’s heading into lectures and will tell me later. It’s such a Faith reply, although not completely out of character. At least twice a year, I’ll get a text from her with a photo of an older woman she’s seen, asking me if it looks like my mum. I think Faith has the idea that, despite the thirteen years, her grandmother will simply reappear someday.
The only thing I can say about the photos is that there are times when I need to have a second look – but none of them have been my mother.
This time I am expecting that to be it, except a slightly blurry photo comes through. It’s been taken from a distance and isn’t of an old woman. Instead, it’s of woman driving something I’ve seen very recently.
A small, silver car.
THIRTEEN
With an hour and a half left of the work day, I’m back in the landscaping office. One of the security guys has been answering the phones and my desk is littered with two-dozen Post-it note messages to pick up. I do my best to catch up with everything I missed.
Although ‘my best’ might not be entirely true.
Faith hasn’t replied, although she’s likely in tutorials, where phones are supposed to be off. I’ve zoomed in and out of her photo so many times, and am almost certain it’s the same silver car I saw parked across from Dad’s house a few hours before. The shadows made it hard to see but I thought the driver was a woman somewhere in her sixties. It was too far for me to make out anything more precise – and I’m assuming Faith sent the photo because there’s a blurry shadow of a woman in the driver’s seat. Her message said the woman looked ‘a bit like’ Grandma, which wouldn’t bother me if it wasn’t for the fact that my mum’s fingerprints are on a gun that was discovered yesterday.
Could this woman really be her?Really?Why would she have been holding a gun near Nicola’s house, much less left it?
Mum said on the tape that she knows who the Earring Killer is, that she thought she was going to be murdered. Except shealsosaid she stole the neighbour’s car and robbed a bank. She admitted to having impulse control problems, and there’s no question she was a liar. Except, where do those lies begin? And is she now driving a small silver car, while keeping an eye on both her old house, and Faith at college?
As I sort of, kind of, get on with work, all that swirls.
How am I supposed to keep going about my life? The clock is ticking as I wait for the time to leave – properly now – so I can pick up Faith and get some answers about the woman she saw. It’s three minutes to five when a new message arrives from my daughter.
Sorted now – Dan giving me a lift x
I don’t want to be annoyed at her, largely because Iwantto be the backup. I don’t ever want her to be stuck, worried about calling me for help in case of a backlash. There’s no further information about the woman in the car and I scroll back to six weeks before, when my daughter last sent a photo of a person she said could be her grandmother. It’s a woman outside Waitrose, laughing with another woman who’s holding a bouquet of flowers. She’s wearing a wax jacket my mum would’ve hated, and is too tall anyway.
There doesn’t seem much point in following up until Faith and I are at home later. It shouldn’t be too long.
Instead, I reply to say it’s fine, and ask if she wants anything in particular for tea. There’s no instant response, which I guess means she’s getting something with her friends.
At least she’s safe.
I’m about to log out of the system when something bangs outside. Mark’s voice is unmistakeable, largely because he has no sense of what might count as an indoor voice. He swears loudly, then shouts at someone that they only have a job becauseof him. A classic way of motivating employees that I’ve heard hundreds of times. Someone replies meekly, though I don’t see or hear who.
