37. Wren
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
WREN
It is a few days later when Starling has a new idea.
The new owner of Bishop’s House. Do we know who that is? Wren, has your mum told you?
She has not, in fact, told me because I have been avoiding her since that phone call.
Christmas will be soon, and that means no escape from her and Dad and their disappointment in what I’ve become.
Cambridge was all they could talk about to anyone the entire time I was there.
My daughter got into Cambridge. My daughter is studying in Cambridge.
Well, my daughter is currently at Cambridge, so blah, blah, blah.
After Cambridge was trickier. I didn’t become the consultant/academic/barrister/whatever of their dreams. I became an English teacher, and they always talk about how I could be so much more.
Which is funny, because what’s more than helping the future generation?
But they don’t see it like that. I haven’t even told them about the promotion because I know they would make the right noises and pretend they’re happy for me, and then in the same breath ask when am I going to look for something more challenging, more suited to my ability?
This is alright for now, but when will you do something we can brag about?
But Starling wouldn’t understand it simply isn’t as easy as asking my mum about it.
She’d want to know why, would question why I’m curious now when I wasn’t before, would spend forever on the details that didn’t matter.
She’d ask follow-up questions later, weeks past, about my interest in Bishop’s House.
Starling has a great relationship with her parents, however much she complains about them, and even Cuckoo and Crow wouldn’t get it.
The only one who would have even slightly understood was Goldie.
Though at least Patricia regrets her behavior.
“I can’t do this,” Crow said, after we left Patricia’s house.
There was no more talk, only crying and Patricia telling us she was glad Goldie had friends like us.
My gut was twisted, as if someone had been wrenching it this way and that for the whole time.
“That was awful. We know what happened to Goldie, and we didn’t tell her. ”
“We had to keep quiet,” I said. “Think of the pact. And besides, we don’t know where Goldie is either now.”
“I don’t get it,” Crow said. “We’re at a dead end. Someone has moved Goldie’s body. She hasn’t vanished into thin air.”
I bit my lip. “There haven’t been any more messages. Maybe they’re going to leave us alone.”
“We can’t count on that. We have to think of something.”
This something, after we told Starling and Cuckoo what had happened, has finally emerged.
Starling said that there was something obvious we were missing.
As much as I hate to admit it, it’s true.
This is obvious, and we didn’t even think about it.
Whoever bought Bishop’s House is the person with access to it.
And for whatever reason, they have moved Goldie’s body in secret instead of calling the police, then decided to torment us.
It’s barely gone four, but I have left work already, keen to have some time to myself for once. By the time I am out of the car and walking to my flat, I know how we can do this.
I might not want to ask my mother directly about the new owner, but there is a way of finding out.
My parents are away this weekend, I reply. I still have a key to their house. We can look in my mum’s office.
“Oh my goodness, what are the chances?”
I glance up from my phone, startled at the sound of a familiar, breathy tone.
A few feet ahead of me, carrying a couple of shopping bags and in an incredible dark trench coat that reaches her ankles, is Hugo’s wife.
She has her hair swept into one long side plait, and even though the night is starting to set in, she has a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses atop her head.
I am conscious, immediately, of my work lanyard, hanging from my neck, the one that will out my real name and the fact I am an English teacher.
I am in my cheap black trousers and a white shirt that has been washed too many times, leaving the color drained and grayish, and my hair is a state.
A day of teaching always turns me into someone that looks like they’ve emerged from the jungle after ten years, but normally it doesn’t matter.
Normally I don’t run into someone I’ve pretended to be a whole different person with.
There is nothing I can do about my general appearance, but I can at least hide the lanyard. As Hugo’s wife walks toward me, I tuck it into my shirt.
“They didn’t steal your car, did they?” she asks.
“My car?”
“Or is this some kind of decision to avoid drawing attention to yourself? This cheap little thing?”
Oh, shit, of course. There’s my car as well, which isn’t even worth a thousand pounds.
“That’s right.” I smile. “Better to be safe than sorry while everything is still being sorted out.”
“Are you here to shop at that adorable boutique place around the corner too?” She brandishes her shopping bags proudly. “Bristol’s best-kept secret for sure.”
I have no idea what boutique place she is talking about. “Not today, just a few errands to run, you know.”
“Considering we live so near,” she says, “what are the odds we’d meet in a totally different area of town? I love a coincidence.”
“Me too!” Is it a coincidence? Surely. She seems relaxed enough, and not even suspicious of my getup.
“This is perfect,” she says. “I have something that will cheer you up—a charity event I’m helping to run this Sunday night, if you’re not doing anything. It’s in Hugo’s honor, to raise money for all missing persons in the local area.”
Hugo’s honor. I have to keep my expression as neutral as possible, though his name sends my heart into spikes.
All the while, my phone is buzzing in my pocket with messages, no doubt from the group chat about my suggestion.
“Oh, that would be lovely,” I say, about to give my excuses, when she cuts me off.
“Think about it,” she says. “I’m inviting everyone, so bring your friends. It would be great to see you.”