Chapter 53
I wait until six o’clock to let myself into the Morgans’ house.
I have to remind myself that I’m not doing anything illegal.
They gave me their key and I have a legitimate reason to be there.
Still, my mouth is dry as I step over the threshold.
I pocket the key and stand in the hallway, watching as the light refracts through the glass droplets of their extravagant chandelier, casting a kaleidoscope of colours on the walls.
It’s a strange feeling, being back here, and I’m suddenly struck with paranoia.
As though they’re watching me. I glance up at the ceiling to see if there are any hidden cameras.
Is that how Henry knew I was here last time?
I mentally shake myself. So what if there are cameras? I’m only doing what they asked.
I head into their immaculate kitchen. On the marble worktop sits a box of cat food and a cat’s bowl.
Marielle has written a note with instructions.
I’m to use half a packet of Felix, then leave it outside their bifold doors for the cat to eat.
I do as it says, then stand at their doors, looking out onto their manicured garden.
I notice the gap in the hedge. I step onto the patio and cross the sun-dried lawn, peering down into the gap.
I can see how easy it would be for Henry to ease himself through it and into my garden.
And I think of how my back gate was left open before, and Charlie lurking in my garden last night.
I go back inside, closing the bi-folds behind me. I should just leave. Go home, but the temptation to snoop is too great.
‘It’s too risky. We could get caught, Mari.’
‘We didn’t last time.’
I can’t resist going back into the small room at the bottom of the stairs.
The wall of articles is still there and I wonder why they haven’t taken them down, knowing I’d be coming over to feed the cat.
I walk further into the room to take more photos.
I pat the pocket of my dress, looking for my phone.
But only the two keys are there – my door key and the Morgans’.
I check my other pocket but my phone isn’t there either.
Damn it, I must have left it behind as I rushed out.
I’ll go home in a minute and get it. I walk further into the room and examine the clippings, taking my time to read them properly.
There’s one here about a new birthing unit that opened in March 1999 at St Calvert’s: I remember how it was surrounded in scaffolding while I was doing my placement, but I left before it was finished.
Another about St Calvert’s being involved in an organ-harvesting scandal, shortly before the place closed down in 2005.
I lift it to read the one underneath, which is about Hugh Warrington’s trial.
The article above it is about his suicide last July.
I scan another, and then another, lifting them carefully from where they overlap, the details jumping out at me, my unease growing as I read each one.
Every single one has some link to St Calvert’s.
The click of a door makes me jump and I spin around.
I freeze.
Marielle is standing there, leaning back against the closed door, blocking my way. The warm smile of earlier has vanished and her eyes are cold.
‘Marielle?’
‘I’m sorry, Lena.’ Her voice is calm. ‘I know you overheard us talking that day. Henry saw you.’
‘I …’ Confusion makes my brain woolly and it takes me a moment or two to register what she’s saying. ‘I … I didn’t hear anything.’
‘I know that’s not true.’
‘Look, whatever you’re up to, it’s none of my business.’
She folds her arms across her chest and clicks her tongue between her teeth. ‘It is your business, Lena.’
My heart twists painfully, realizing, too late, that I’ve walked into a trap. They were never going away for the weekend. This was all a ruse to get me here.
‘What’s … what’s going on?’ I manage.
‘You weren’t supposed to overhear us, Lena. Especially as we were talking about you.’
My legs buckle beneath me. ‘I don’t understand …’
Her next words chill me to my core. She approaches me slowly. And then, in the hand that hangs by her side, I notice a syringe. ‘You, Lena. You were the plan. Why do you think we moved in next door?’