Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
ORLA
It was not so long ago that I wrote that my house was empty apart from me and the cats, but this morning I have an unexpected guest.
The events of last night were so strange and unexpected that when I woke up this morning I believed for a moment that I had dreamed them; then I opened my bedroom door and saw the door to the room that used to be Beatrice’s – and still is, the bed kept permanently made up in case of one of her unannounced visits – was closed.
So I have returned to bed with my notebook to record what happened before the details elude me, and to decide what I should do.
First, I heard the sound of a car engine being revved with unnecessary and unsociable vigour so late at night.
I heard its door open, a blast of loud music and a man’s voice raised in laughter.
There was something about the series of sounds that was aggressive – threatening almost, like a dog fox barking to assert his territorial claim.
The door slammed closed. The car engine revved again, and I heard a screech of tyres as it pulled away, then total silence descended once more.
I lay still for a moment, half-wondering if I had imagined the noise, or if it had in fact not been so loud at all but merely seemed that way in the otherwise still night, and then I drifted back into sleep.
But I was woken again by a knock on my front door, and I jerked upright, fully awake now, startled and almost afraid.
I am a woman in my sixties, alone in this big house and, I suppose, vulnerable.
Normally I do not feel that way at all, but last night I did.
I switched on my bedside light and peered out of the window, but thanks to the portico over my front door I could see nothing – the street below seemed deserted.
The knock came again, less timid this time.
Hastily, I pulled on yesterday’s clothes and hurried downstairs, the cats trailing behind me, blinking in surprise but amenable to the prospect of an early breakfast. I had my phone in my hand, my finger on the emergency call button just in case.
But when I opened the door, it was Lulu Graham standing there.
She was wearing her usual jeans, extravagantly ripped and slung low on her hips, and a top cropped so high it almost exposed her breasts, the fashion now that is becoming on only the very young.
Her make-up was heavy – or it had been; now it was blurred and smudged – and her long hair dishevelled.
Her eyes were wide with alarm and something else I cannot now identify.
I’m sorry, Orla, she whispered. Sorry to disturb you. But I didn’t know what else to do.
Feeling almost lightheaded with relief, then prickled with concern, I told her it was all right, and invited her to come in.
She told me that she’d lost her keys, that Barney was out with a friend and her mother… She hesitated. Her mother must be asleep, she said.
Asleep, I wondered, or something else?
But I didn’t get a chance to respond. Lulu kept talking, jabbering almost, her words coming in a rush.
I tried calling and texting her but she didn’t wake up, she said. I was going to go and find a café or something and wait until morning but I feel – I didn’t feel safe out there. So I knocked on your door. I hope it’s all right.
I assured her that she had done the right thing, and offered her a hot drink; I could see that she was shivering, although even at what my phone told me was three a.m., the night was warm.
Just a glass of water, please, Orla, she said. And to use your bathroom, if that’s okay?
Poor girl – the need for the loo would have made her wait out in the street feel even more urgent.
She hurried upstairs, and I fetched a glass from the kitchen and waited on the landing for her to emerge. She seemed calmer when she did, although her eyes still had that wide, hyper-alert look.
Gently, I suggested that she might feel better if she got some sleep, and we could get her home in the morning, and she reluctantly agreed to stay.
So I put her to bed in Beatrice’s room, and I expect she will be there for a good few hours, sleeping as only an exhausted teenager can. Now I will need to figure out what to say to Anna – whether to dissemble about the time Lulu arrived home, whether to tell her about that car and the man’s voice.