Dear Amy by Helen Callaghan

Author:Helen Callaghan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2016-09-06T04:00:00+00:00

‘So what did they say?’ asked Lily.

The kids were in bed, and her mournful mother had retired upstairs with a low-voiced goodnight.

My hands shook around the mug of tea she’d made me.

‘They just asked me if I knew either of these men. I said no, and they said that unless they’d actually spoken to me, that was it. They said he sounded like a mugger.’

‘So it was definitely two different guys?’

‘Yep. I’d swear to it. This one was . . . more personable, if that makes any sense in the context of a weirdo that follows you into an underground car park. And I . . . I wouldn’t swear to it, but I think he was younger, too.’

Lily folded her arms and sighed furiously, making the little tendril of hair hanging down from the crown of her head blow upwards. I smiled weakly at her from the sofa and shrugged.

‘So you have to be raped or murdered before they can shift themselves to do anything?’

‘That’s it,’ I said, ‘in a nutshell.’ I leaned back into the soft cushions and closed my eyes.

She drummed her fingers on the armrest, regarding me thoughtfully, and as she did the rapid little tattoo she was beating out slowed, moved into something more speculative. ‘Fancy something stronger than tea?’

‘I’ve brought the car with me,’ I muttered dolefully.

‘That’s what taxis are for,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘Red or white?’

She moved off into her kitchen and I rubbed my face with my hand. It was still trembling.

‘But here’s the thing, Margot,’ she called back from the kitchen. ‘Why would anyone follow you?’

I started, a little surprised. She knew all about the business with Bethan Avery, of course. ‘It must be something to do with the letters,’ I said. ‘I can’t imagine why else I’d be so interesting.’

‘And you told the police this?’

‘Well, yes.’

She reappeared at the kitchen door with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, which she was uncorking while she talked.

‘Margot, can I ask a question? Without you getting mad?’

Half of her mouth was screwed up in a tight little grimace.

I shrugged, or I might have shivered. ‘Sure.’

‘When was the last time you went to the doctor’s?’

I blinked. ‘About a fortnight ago. I don’t know. What’s that got to do with anything?’ But I saw, with horrible sureness, what she was getting at.

‘Don’t you think you should make another appointment?’

I licked my lips. No, I thought, I don’t.

‘I don’t see how it’s relevant,’ I said, trying to sound calm, measured and reasonable.

She nodded, as though a personal theory of hers was being proved.

‘Look,’ I said, ‘it’s not just me. There’s all sorts of . . . take Martin Forrester for instance, he doesn’t—’

‘I’m not being funny, Margot – really I’m not. It’s just that sometimes . . .’ She sighed, as though considering an unpleasant task. ‘Something can feel very right when you’re in it, and then . . .’ she trailed off, as though searching, ‘But it can turn out that the things driving your interest are not what you thought they were.

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