“Just to do really well in my GCSEs. And my A levels. And then go to a really good university.”
Noelle tutted and rolled her eyes. “What is it with you young people and yourobsessionwith university? Oh, the fanfare when I got into Trinity! Such a big deal! My mother couldn’t stop telling the world. Her only girl! At Trinity! And look at me now. One of the poorest people I know.”
Ellie smiled and wondered what to say.
“No, there’s more to life than university, Miss Smarty Pants. There’s more than just certificates and qualifications. I have them coming out of my ears. And look at me, sitting here with you in your lovely warm house, drinking your lovely Earl Grey tea, getting paid a pittance to fill your brain with my knowledge. Then going home to nothing.” She turned sharply and fixed Ellie with a look. “Tonothing. I swear.” Then she sighed and smiled and the glasses came up her nose and her gaze left Ellie and the lesson commenced.
Afterward Ellie found her mother in the kitchen and said, “Mum. I want to stop my tutoring.”
Her mum turned and looked at her questioningly. “Oh?” she said. “Why?”
Ellie thought about telling her the truth. She thought about saying,She’s freaking me out and saying really weird things and I really don’t want to be alone with her for an hour every week anymore.How she wished she had told her the truth. Maybe if she’d told her the truth, her mother might have been able to work it all out and then everything would have been different. But for some reason she didn’t. Maybe she thought her mother would say that it was a silly reason to want to stop having the lessons so close to her exams. Or maybe she didn’t want to get Noelle into trouble, didn’t want asituationto develop. But for whatever misguided reason she said, “I just honestly think I’ve gone as far as I can go with Noelle. I’ve got all the practice papers she gave me. I can just keep doing those. And it will save you some money.” She smiled, winningly, and waited for her mother’s response.
“Well, it does seem a bit strange, so close to your exams.”
“Exactly. I think there are other things I could be using the time for now. Geography, for example. I could really do with some extra study time for geography.”
This was a 100-percent untruth. Ellie was totally on top of all her studies. The extra hour a week would make no difference to anything. But still she smiled that Mum-pleasing smile, left the request hanging in the air between them, waited.
“Well, darling, it’s up to you, of course.”
Ellie nodded encouragingly, the echo of Noelle’s loaded words, the tired aroma of old cooking and unwashed hair, the mood swings and the tangential, slightly inappropriate questions pulsing through her consciousness.
“If you’re sure? It would be nice not to have the extra expense,” her mother said.
“Exactly.” Relief flooded through her. “Exactly.”
“OK,” said her mother, pulling open the fridge door, taking out a tub of Bolognese sauce, closing it again. “I’ll call her tomorrow. Let her know.”
“Great,” said Ellie lightly, feeling an odd, sordid weight lifting from her soul. “Thank you.”
8
The suited policeman who greeted Laurel was young and washed out, clammy-handed and slightly nervous. He led her through to an interview room. “Thank you for coming,” he said, as though there’d been an option not to come.Sorry, I have a lot on today, maybe next week?
Someone went to fetch her a cup of water, and then a moment later the door opened again and Paul walked in.
Paul, God, of course, Paul. She hadn’t even thought of Paul. She’d reacted as though this was all down to her. But clearly someone at the station had thought of Paul. He blew into the room, all floppy silver hair, rumpled suit, the dry smell of the City embedded in his skin. His hand reached for Laurel’s shoulder as he passed her but she couldn’t bring herself to turn to acknowledge him, just forced a small smile for the benefit of people watching the exchange.
He took the seat next to her, his hand pressed down against his tie as he lowered himself into the chair. Someone fetched him tea from a machine. She felt cross about the tea. She felt cross about Paul.
“We’ve been investigating a site near Dover,” said the detective called Dane. “A dog walker called us. His terrier dug up a bag.”
A bag. Laurel nodded, furiously. A bag was not a body.
Dane pulled some 10- by 8-inch photos from a hard-backed envelope. He slid them across the table toward Laurel and Paul. “Do you recognize any of these items?”
Laurel pulled the photos toward herself.
It was Ellie’s bag. Her rucksack. The one she’d had slung over her shoulder when she left the house for the library all those years ago. There was the small red logo that had been such a vital part of the police appeal. It had been virtually the only distinguishing feature on Ellie’s person that day.
The second photo was of a black T-shirt, a loose-fitting thing with a slash neck and cap sleeves. The label inside said “New Look.” She’d worn it partly tucked into her jeans at the front.
The third was a bra: gray jersey with small black polka dots. The label inside said “Atmosphere.”
The fourth was a pair of jeans. Pale denim. The label inside said “Top Shop.”
The fifth was a pair of scruffy white trainers.