Nothing Without Me by Helen Monks Takhar

Author:Helen Monks Takhar [Takhar, Helen Monks]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollinsPublishers
Published: 2024-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

20

April, the day before the screening

Jags’s car, parked at Essie’s house, leaking oil onto the gravel. Jags planting the nail polish stain and strands of Essie’s hair to throw me off the scent of the truth: an affair gone sour, turned violent? It’s crazy, I know, but the coincidence of the engine oil means I must scratch the itch, if only so I can completely eliminate Jags from my suspicions and crack on with our next move.

I eye the two garages located behind me, then look back through the large side window into the kitchen to check Jags is not in there. I find myself peering up at the CCTV camera trained on the garages, even though I know they’re not functioning. For whatever reason, I feel watched once more, and so vulnerable. Ever since Jags called me Esther, there’s an anxiety I’ve not been able to fully shake.

I can’t stop myself from wanting to investigate, starting with the garage nearest me. It’s the least modernised of the two, with older-style wooden doors and two windows so grimy that when I look through them, all I can see inside is a greasy blur. There’s a padlock holding the doors together, heavy in my hand, rusty.

I give the padlock a shake, more in hope than expectation, but its mechanism springs free in my hand with a dull, scratchy clunk. I drop it to the gravel, pull one of the reluctant doors open wide enough for me to squeeze in, and look inside. There is a leaf blower, various spades, a scythe, shears of different sizes and lengths hanging on nails on one of the walls, and a well-used sit-on lawnmower, which could have made the stain outside though I don’t see any trace of a leak. No Grey Lady. I slide out, push the door, click the padlock to a close, and move on to the next garage.

This one is more modern, with a manual retractable white metal door and no windows. I try the handle, giving it a further forceful tug that makes the door clatter in its runners but does not release the lock.

‘Looking for more clues?’

I jump at the sound of Jags’s voice behind me.

‘Um, I was just—’

‘Found anything interesting?’

‘No.’ I breathe over the nerves in my chest. ‘I was thinking about trying to get this garage open.’

‘Why?’ Jags asks, and I can hear exhaustion and perhaps even a trace of hurt in his voice. It leaves me feeling like the one who may be hiding something.

‘I don’t know. Just a hunch.’ I attempt to introduce quiet mirth into my voice, but it doesn’t quite work.

‘Essie keeps a load of keys and stuff in that drawer in the kitchen, doesn’t she?’ Jags says, and I detect a tightening in the air. He knows I don’t fully trust him. Part of me wants to tell him it’s not him, it’s me that’s the problem, but I don’t want to out my mistrust so emphatically.

‘They could be in there,’ I agree.

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