Chapter 9
Back in the kitchen, Lewis wore an enormous smirk, like Zack and Miranda’s argument was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week.
‘I will never understand why anyone would want to get married,’ Lewis said.
Holly came over to me and put her arms around me, resting her head against my chest. I hugged her tightly, glad to offer her comfort. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lewis shake his head at us, seemingly disgusted by the display. He went up to his room, muttering something to himself.
‘Do you want to go home?’ I asked. ‘Go back to Brighton?’
She broke away from me. ‘What? No. Of course not.’ A pause. ‘Do you think I’m overreacting?’
‘No. I mean, I know this must be difficult for you. But … I imagine you’ll get used to it. To her, I mean.’
‘Hmm.’ She didn’t sound at all sure of that. ‘I need a bath. It will help me de-stress.’
She gave me a peck on the lips then went up the stairs.
I stayed in the kitchen, pleased to have a moment to myself.
I wasn’t used to drama. My family were the type who preferred to bury their feelings, to seethe rather than speak, and there was something exhilarating about the emotional openness of the Grants, although I wondered if any of them would speak to Charles about the doppelg?nger thing.
It seemed clear they were all a little scared of him – or of upsetting him, at least.
I sat at the table, wondering what to do myself, and my thoughts strayed to the story Brenda had told me in the pub, about the boy who had died here. Samir. I put his name into Google and spent a while scrolling through the results until my stomach began to rumble.
I was checking the contents of the fridge, trying to find a snack, when a female voice behind me said, ‘What time is it?’ It was Jasmine.
‘It’s noon. I thought you were asleep?’
‘I think I was? I’m so confused.’ She yawned. ‘I need to stay up or my body clock will never recover. Charles is sleeping like a baby, God bless him.’
On a whim, I said, ‘Do you want to go out? There are no shops, all the cafés are closed for the winter and the visitors’ centre is shut. Nothing to see – but I can show it to you.’
‘Sounds perfect. Let me wash up first.’
Outside, a little later, I headed straight for the car, but Jasmine said, ‘How long will it take to walk? I am dying for some fresh air.’
I estimated it was around a thirty-minute walk, so we went on foot, leaving the Grants’ property and heading down the path that led to the coast road.
It truly was beautiful, but so bleak, a forbidding kind of beauty that I knew, from the story I’d heard in the pub last night, could quickly turn lethal.
To a certain type of person, though, this place would be paradise.
The majesty of the landscape, the absence of noise and neighbours and pollution.
I could understand why Charles had bought a refuge here and kept it after Elizabeth died.
When we were about five minutes down the road, I said, ‘You work in a hotel, don’t you?’
‘That’s right. Front of house.’
‘In Miami?’
‘Uh-huh. Miami Beach. It’s just like this place. A little warmer.’
A bird sailed above our heads, crying out. Holly had told me we were likely to see birds of prey, or even stags wandering along the roads, but so far – having not been able to find the adder that Hamish had brought into the kitchen – the only wildlife I’d seen had been seagulls.
‘And that’s where you met Charles? Was he staying in your hotel?
’ I wasn’t as desperate to know all this as Miranda and Holly, but I was curious.
I also thought Jasmine was more likely to be open with me than with the three Grant siblings.
Maybe I could get some info that Zack didn’t know or didn’t want to pass on.
‘It is where I met him, yes, but he was actually staying in the hotel next door. Has he not told Holly all of this?’
‘I think he has, but she hasn’t passed it on to me. All she told me was that you met when he was on holiday.’
‘Well, that’s the story. I was working behind the desk, like always, and Charles came in asking if he could use the hotel’s gym because the A/C in his hotel was – how did he put it?
– on the blink. We wouldn’t usually have allowed it, but he was so charming.
Then he came back later with flowers to say thank you. ’
‘And one thing led to another.’
‘Hmm, it did. You know, I’ve never been into older guys.’ She chuckled. ‘I guess it must have been his British accent.’
She touched my arm. ‘But don’t worry, I’m not going to jump on every guy I meet here.’
I was still groping for a response when she said, ‘So, what have they all been saying about me? Oh my God, your face. Was it that bad?’
Flustered, I managed to say, ‘No. Not at all.’ I had probably gone red.
She put her hand on my arm again. She was as tactile as Holly. ‘It’s okay. I get it. I’d be the same if it was my dad, turning up out of the blue with some younger woman. Actually, if my dad turned up period, I’d be shocked.’
‘You’re not in touch?’
‘Nope. Haven’t seen him since he left us when I was nine. He’s an asshole. But I’m not going anywhere.’
I got the impression this was a message she wanted me to convey to Holly.
‘I love Charles,’ she said. ‘He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And he deserves to be happy, don’t you think, after what happened to his poor wife?’
I had wondered if Jasmine knew about her resemblance to Elizabeth, but it seemed pretty clear to me that she didn’t have a clue. How would she react when she found out? I was certain it wouldn’t be too long before someone stuck a photo of Elizabeth in front of her face.
A white van was trundling towards us, so we stood on the rough grass at the edge of the road to let it pass. The driver raised her hand in salute and I saw that it was Morag. Instead of driving past, she pulled over, the wind whipping her dark hair around her face.
‘Do you want a lift?’ she asked, frowning at Jasmine. Of course, she would have known Elizabeth.
‘We’re good, thanks.’ Then something occurred to me and, to Jasmine, I said, ‘Do you mind if we do some research for a project I’m thinking about?’
‘Sure.’
I turned back to Morag. ‘There’s a single police officer in this village, right?’
‘Yes. Susan.’
‘Could you tell me where to find her?’
PC Susan Williams lived in a small stone house on the other side of the village, standing as part of a group of buildings that were set back from the road.
‘She lives here, but she’s actually based in Inverness,’ Morag had explained, repeating what I’d been told in the pub. Inverness, which was over two hours’ drive away – even longer when the mountain pass was shut, as it was now – was the nearest town big enough to have a police station.
‘This is exciting,’ Jasmine said as we approached the house. ‘I had no idea I’d be involved in investigating a real-life mystery while I was here.’
On the walk, which had taken us past the closed visitors’ centre and the pub, I had filled Jasmine in on what Brenda had told me about Samir Anand.
How he had left Coventry, having outlined no plans to travel to Scotland, and had been found days later in the hills here, dead.
I didn’t tell her that Samir wasn’t the first person to die at the caves, mainly because I didn’t have any other details about that yet.
I’d been too distracted by Charles and Jasmine’s arrival to follow up with Holly.
Her reluctance to discuss it also made me realize I would need to find the right moment.
I was wary of upsetting her during this important, already stressful week.
What had I found out about Samir? During my search earlier, I had read through a few news stories about his death in the local press, here and in the West Midlands, as well as a memorial page that must have been set up by his family.
He had been nineteen when he died. The photos that had been posted on his memorial page showed a tall, skinny young man, average-looking, with a wispy moustache.
It was obvious from the way he didn’t look at the camera in any of the photos that he was not a confident boy.
I imagined him to be shy, self-conscious about the way he looked.
He had the droopy eyes and frown of a boy who spent a lot of time in front of a computer screen, and I could picture him in his bedroom, headset on, chatting with his mates as he played online games.
The messages on the board backed up this image.
Love for all the times you helped me with my IT homework. You saved my skin so many times!!
Samir, NGL – gonna miss u kicking my ass at Fortnite.
One of the local papers had published a photo of Samir at sixteen, a bashful smile on his lips. I felt like I knew him, or the kind of boy he had been, and the photo made me ache for the life he could have had, if he’d been more confident, less shy. Had a chance to grow and mature.
The saddest thing I’d found was a video interview with Samir’s mother. She must have been only in her fifties but looked old before her time, with hair that had gone completely grey.
‘He was so unassuming,’ she said. ‘He trod lightly on the Earth, never expecting anything. A good, humble boy who respected his elders and loved animals and who brought me so much pride, even though I always worried about him.’ She had looked directly at the camera, speaking in her broad West Midlands accent.
‘I have to know why he was there. What he was doing. Somebody must know. Please, even if it’s anonymous, let me know.
I can’t go the rest of my life without … ’
She had been unable to finish the sentence, dissolving into tears, the camera lingering as she sobbed. It was awful.
‘All I’m trying to do at this point is figure out if there’s enough meat here,’ I said to Jasmine now. ‘Enough to form the basis of my next film. If I don’t get on with something soon, I’m going to have to find a different career.’
‘Do you make much, being a documentary-maker?’