Chapter 8
‘Fuck!’ I shriek.
I whip upright, moving so fast that I smack my head on my steering wheel. My teeth clench at the thud of impact, my face scrunching as a clout of pain ricochets through me.
The elderly woman standing beside my car looks as shocked at my outburst as I was by her sudden appearance. She holds her hand to her chest and for one horrifying moment, I panic I’ve just scared one of Bramblethorpe’s oldest residents to death.
‘What a fright we’ve given each other,’ the woman shouts, fighting to be heard through the closed window. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you, dear. I saw you driving up and down and thought you might be lost.’
Acting as if my pulse isn’t pounding in the base of my throat, I wind my window down. ‘That’s so kind, thank you.’
‘Oh, it’s no bother. I was gardening when you drove past, you see. It’s never too early to prep for spring,’ the woman says, waving a trowel in the air as if I’ll want to fact-check her story. ‘I’m Dorrit Holbeck. Nice to meet you.’
Stepping out of the car on wobbling legs, I shake Dorrit’s trowel-free hand. ‘Janine,’ I reply.
Introductions made, the well-worn smile lines on Dorrit’s face come to life. I memorise her features should I ever need to describe a character who is the epitome of a wholesome grandmother.
‘This here is Magnus,’ Dorrit says, nodding to a small Scottie dog by her feet who looks almost as old as she does. ‘He came to say hello. He’s terribly nosey, although his arthritis will make him suffer for that. Now then, how did you end up getting lost on Maple Crescent?’
‘I’m not lost. I’m looking for…’ I trail off as my attention finds itself being drawn back along the street, searching for the Clarkes’ home and the secrets it contains.
‘Let me guess, you’re here about Alexa?’
My focus snaps back to Dorrit. ‘How do you know?’
‘You’re not the first car that’s driven along here today, believe me.’
‘Right,’ I reply, cringing as I realise I must seem like another nosey local. ‘Do you know the Clarkes?’
‘I’m their neighbour, dear. Of course I know them.’
I force a smile. ‘Of course! Sorry, I moved here from central Manchester. I barely knew what my neighbours looked like, never mind their names.’
Dorrit grimaces at the sorry admission. ‘Things aren’t like that around here. Folk tend to know each other well. Some people don’t like that, but I think it’s nice to have people keeping an eye out for you, especially at my age.’
‘I imagine it’s a comfort for you.’
‘It is, dear, although I must admit, I don’t know Otis and Alexa well.’
‘I take it that means you don’t know where Alexa is?’
‘It sounds like no one does,’ Dorrit replies, unable to keep the creep of worry out of her voice. ‘Otis said when he came home from work on Saturday, she was gone.’
Hearing the truth so close to Alexa’s home brings a new level of eeriness to it. I find myself once again staring along the road Alexa must have walked along, wondering if it could talk, what would it say?
‘I can’t understand why anyone would work on a Saturday,’ Dorrit continues, shaking her head. ‘And with computers too! But Otis is a busy man. When he came round yesterday to ask if I’d seen Alexa, I offered him a cup of tea, but he said he didn’t have the time.’
Even though I know it pushes my presence here to borderline rude, I can’t help asking, ‘Did Otis say anything else?’
Dorrit shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry, I wish I could be more help, but I don’t know anything. Otis said there’s no reason to worry, but I’m not so sure.’
‘Do you think something’s happened to Alexa?’
Dorrit takes a second to think how best to reply. ‘I would hate to start a rumour like that, but Alexa and Otis… they’ve been arguing recently. A lot. My house is close by. You hear things. You see things.’
‘What did you see?’ I ask, dry mouthed.
‘Oh, this and that. Shouting on the doorstep, Otis driving away in the middle of the night. Alexa spending more time alone or crying in the garden. I never went over to ask if she was okay – I didn’t want to intrude – but maybe I should have.’
As guilt sweeps over Dorrit, I say, ‘You weren’t to know what would happen.’
‘Maybe, but I knew things weren’t right. Someone crying like that – it’s never a good sign, is it? Otis always looks so sad these days. A little angry, too. You never know what can happen when you feel like that.’
The loaded analysis of the Clarkes’ life squirms inside me. ‘Are you saying that you think Otis has hurt Alexa?’
Dorrit’s expression twists. ‘I don’t know. Accusing someone of that isn’t nice and Otis usually seems like such a nice man. I never saw any evidence of him hurting her, but all that arguing… Things can’t have been good between them, can they?’
‘Do you know what they were arguing about?’ I ask, but at that moment a car passes on the road beside us. Dorrit jumps at its sudden appearance then takes a step backwards.
‘I shouldn’t have said anything,’ she rushes to say.
‘It’s probably nothing and, like I said, I never saw anything.
Not really. Besides, all couples argue, don’t they?
’ She backs away from me before I can say yes, they do, but not so frequently that one of them spends most of the day crying.
‘I should get back to my garden. I’ve so much to do. ’
‘Wait,’ I begin, but Dorrit shakes her head.
‘I’m sorry, dear, but I’ve already said too much.
If you have more questions, you need to speak to Otis.
His house is just next door,’ Dorrit says, pointing to what looks like a hedge.
When she sees the confusion on my face, she explains, ‘The driveway curves from behind the hedge. It was designed to be deceptive. Some landscaping they arranged after people complained about the house. From the road, you can’t see it head on, but the start of their driveway is just there. ’
I go to say thank you, but Dorrit has already started to walk away.
‘Dorrit,’ I call, stopping her. ‘What if Otis can’t answer my questions?’
She blinks, chewing the inside of her lip. ‘Then I think you should take them to the police.’
With that, Dorrit hobbles away. Magnus follows, his stilted walk mirroring his owner’s until they disappear into a garden up the road, leaving me alone.