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.
CHAPTER 9
Sense tells me to drive home. Dorrit’s analysis of Alexa’s marriage verged on chilling, and that’s without mentioning the eerie atmosphere bathing this isolated, frost-bitten street. But my eyes can’t help wandering to the hedge that leads to the Clarke house.
I know what I’m thinking of doing is wrong. I know that, technically, it’s trespassing. But I’m the kind of person who loves a puzzle or escape room. The kind of reader who can’t not finish a book, even one I’m not enjoying, because I have to know how the story ends. I can’t walk away not knowing where Alexa Clarke is or if she’s okay.
Besides, Alexa helped me when I was at my worst. I’ll be damned if I’m not going to help her too.